Contemplating the Doll
by Domenic
Summary: Set in the comicverse, during the story arc “A Death in the Family. The Green Goblin a.k.a. Norman Osborn considers the doll of Gwen he holds in his hand....


Author's Beginning Notes: This is my first Spider-Man fanfic, and it vaguely demonstrates the unconventional pairing of Gwen Stacy/Green Goblin a.k.a. Norman Osborn, while the love between Norman and Emily is quite conspicuous. (They're married after all...) Obviously, this story also makes references to the "Revenge of the Green Goblin" story arc that is most notable for the mention of the Goblin's wife Emily, as well as the "Death of Captain Stacy," and most obviously the "Death of Gwen Stacy," all of them stories to be found in the comicbooks. This story also references to fanwork material, primarily the articles of madgoblin from his website specifically "Deflowering Gwen" and "Sins Past and the Cult of Gwen;" those two should really be read for a background history to this fanfic, but also simply because they are a good read in themselves, informative, entertaining, and insightful; the same goes for the articles to be found on that site. I am aware that "Sins Past" is mostly regarded as a horrible piece of work, and in certain areas I do agree, and that's why this fanfic came into existence, to take some of that story's core ideas and demonstrate them in an interesting and more well-developed light. Also, Green Goblin a.k.a. Norman Osborn is my favorite and I've always wanted to write a story about him, and I've always had this odd interest in pairing him with Gwen even before "Sins Past;" of course, only in the AU context. Anyway, please read, enjoy, and feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Summary: (Set within in the comicverse, in the story arc "A Death in the Family" by Paul Jenkins, and conspicuously referencing another story arc "Sins Past.") As the Green Goblin a.k.a. Norman Osborn waits for the Web-Head in his own warehouse for another duel between the two, he considers the doll of Gwen he holds in his hand...

Disclaimer: Spider-Man and its respective characters do not belong to me. Obviously.

Contemplating the Doll

The Goblin plays with her head, distractedly tossing it up and down in the palm of his hand, as he fingers the Gwen doll's plastic body in the other. Her form is dressed in the clothes Gwen had died in, the effect just wouldn't be the same on Parker if she wore anything different. Green, purple, black: the colors of her garments…true to character, the Goblin won't admit he thought those colors suited Gwen rather well. Glancing at a nearby clock, the Goblin pops Gwen's head back on, and he brings the fully assembled doll face to face with him, staring into her wide vacant eyes, examining the detail in her painted details. Curling his lip in a smirk, the Goblin mused how she looked like a damn Barbie doll.

Gwen had hated Barbie dolls. The Goblin remembers her blurting it out through tears after her father had died; in an amnesiac state, he had just been Norman when he had fought against his better judgement in deciding to quickly look in on the girl, and although finding her in a fetal position on the couch crying her little blue eyes out had not been entirely unexpected, his mind could not help but be struck by a sense of déjà vu, the whole situation being entirely too reminiscent of…that intimate night, in which their roles had been reversed. The irony was overpowering, and he had instinctively wanted to share it with Gwen, cracking a joke only they would understand, although to this day he could not recall his exact words; to Norman's amazement and amusement, the girl had burst into distorted laughter, and he had felt kinship to her, found her cackling sweet music to his ears, thought she looked beautiful, her still flowing tears reminding him of rain. Gwen had patted the cushion beside her, looking to him with pleading eyes he could not ignore, and soon found himself sitting next to her, awkwardly cradling her shoulder, trying to remember how he had done it with his wife Emily.

"Let's not go farther than this, okay," she had breathed through her twisted giggles in reference to their touch, and Norman had found a soft chuckle escaping his throat. Once her laughter ended, that was when Gwen began babbling about the Barbie dolls, on how they were awful role models for young girls, shoving creepy perfectionism and narrow-mindedness of beauty down their throats, but Gwen later admitted that the dolls also conjured up memories of her mother.

"She abandoned Dad and I, you see, and I remember tearing apart the Barbie she gave me," she had quickly explained to him, a fear in her blue eyes he could not completely fathom. Norman had remained silent, a memory of his Mother's bruised face briefly flashing across his mind, a dirty beer bottle tightly clutched in his Father's fist...

"So much suffering in the world can be avoided if more people would learn just to be good parents," Gwen had whispered drowsily as her eyes fluttered closed, and he had scowled at her, wondering if she had read the emotions in his eyes, for her last statement seemed in his ears to have been directed solely at him. The girl had fallen asleep quickly, and he had finally recognized the bags under her eyes, realizing she had obviously not been sleeping much, and Norman found himself unwilling to disturb her, and since his schedule was relatively uncluttered by appointments and paperwork, he had stayed a few hours longer, until Gwen finally woke herself up from her nap. He still chuckles today at her embarrassment, her stuttered apologies, her crimson blushes; the Goblin still has no idea why Gwen felt a cup of coffee could act as some form of apology when her words had been sufficient enough, but the girl had made numerous offers to fix him a cup nonetheless, which he had all rejected. Norman had left then, and he is unable to erase the memory of Gwen's grateful smile at the door.

There is no smile on the doll's face, a choice on the Goblin's part as a futile attempt to forget. He pops Gwen's head off once more; so many things he wants to forget about this girl: she caught him at his most vulnerable point when trying to thank him for saving the lives of herself and her father earlier in some crisis or other-saw him with all of his armor down, leaving him feel naked in front of her wide gaze; she had been weak too then, both of their vulnerabilities leading to a common ground, and they had talked, talked about so much then, both aware that they had snapped when they poured their souls out to each other, that fact struck home when they…when they…when they…it just **happened**. Something had clicked when they had unleashed their most primal feelings as they ravaged each other's bodies, and the Goblin wants to forget the resounding echo of that clicking most of all. He encloses the doll's head in his gloved fist, a mad desire to crush it coursing through his veins, but reason whispers in his ears that he needs her intact for Parker. The Goblin glances at the clock again, his golden eyes lazily tracing the path of its pointed hands.

The Goblin lashes out his tongue and licks his lips, already anticipating the blood that will flow tonight, more than willing to feel the metallic taste of his own or the Insect's. Blood is a soothing balm to him that most efficiently numbs the taste of Gwen, something he has never been able to shake off after all these years, and neither her touch, nor her scent…she haunts him. The head of the doll bounces up once more, soon followed by her own body; the Goblin juggles the detached parts of his toy. Gwen's haunting is nothing like Emily's, which is natural to the Goblin, something that belongs with him, that is integral to him and beats in rhythm with his heavily veiled heart. With Gwen, it is nothing more than an intrusion that sinks its claws far too deeply into his shoulders, an unwanted presence on his mind. The juggling actually entertains the Goblin, a small smile creeping onto his sculptured face.

As he juggles, the Goblin wonders if he should be truthful with the Insect, tell the boy that he himself doesn't remember too much about sweet Gwendolyn's death; the only downside to that plot is the high chance that Parker would disregard it as a complete lie to get a rise out of him, and although the Goblin's intent **is** to twist the knife further, it would be the truth. A haze of fiery emotions compose the majority of the Goblin's memories of the girl's final fate, hatred the hottest of all, and he theorizes it is due to the mental state he had been in at the time, and the fact that his "rise from the grave" may've had some side-effects on his mind, blotting out certain memories; he never bothered the scientist within him to investigate. The point of the matter is, all the Goblin could recall as a clear and actual event was the loud snap echoing about the skies filtering through the bridge, the girl hanging by a single strand of silky web, spiraling in her suspension like a broken ballerina doll of porcelain. The rest…the rest of his memories a haze of blurred images tinted crimson, the world tilted off-kilter, sounds still heard, an array of them mostly comprised of the harsh voices of himself and Parker, but the noises of New York gently twisting and intermingling among their indiscernible words.

Up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down…the doll is juggled on and on, her strands of wiry blonde hair fluttering, trapped in a cycle dancing madly in golden eyes, a fanged mouth spread insanely wide. The Goblin allows himself to be carried away on a wild impulse of pure reckless and illogical abandon, abruptly standing up atop his chair, placing one booted foot against the desk and pushing off against it, so that there is a precarious balance now, the chair tilted and standing on one leg, the juggling raised above it and continuing heedlessly. Pumpkin bombs soon join the Gwen doll in her spiraling dance, and they all bounce up and down in the purple palms of the Goblin's gloves.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, the Goblin juggles to the clock's rhythm, a rhythm that brings him back to Emily's hospital room, where its own clock went tick-tock endlessly amongst the horribly bright sterile environment. He can smell the old detachment of her room, feel her little Harry swaddled and coddled in a blue blanket of comfort that seemed to forever mock Norman, see only the pure whiteness of her face, a glowing sheen hastily painted on that echoed of porcelain... Emily was born as a porcelain doll when her eyes were stitched shut for all eternity, yes indeed. A decorative toy placed on display that matched ever so perfectly with that nice little coffin, roses framing her face as a last make-up preparation for Heaven, one final bouquet expertly placed in her spindly fingers that would never hold Norman again, never ever...

Skittering sounds on the roof mixing with the rain's pitter-patter, the Goblin stumbles in his juggling, but he manages to keep a hold on his bombs while dropping the Gwen doll, her body half-heartedly bouncing across the gray floor in a vein attempt to follow her rolling head; the Spider has finally arrived, and the Goblin smirked as his boot sprang out to quickly stop the head's rolling path. He stretches down and his fingers almost delicately enclose Gwen's head, soon snatching up her body afterward with barely contained excitement. With a plastic snap the toy is back in one piece, and the Goblin places her atop a pile of boxes on the desk as if it were a throne. He finally reaches for his other dolls, the plastic copies of himself and the Web-Head; they hadn't been as fascinating as Gwen. Crouching down in his chair, the Goblin unleashes his twisted and forgotten inner-child, a broken toy in his father's hands.

"Come on! I want to go bungee jumping!" The Goblin begins with a parody on Gwen's voice, reveling in making it as high-pitched as possible, just to spite the ghostly image of her in his dreams that never knows when to shut up.

_Fin_

Author's Ending Notes: I hope you enjoyed that fanfic, and that Norman was twisted enough. My opinion of "Sins Past": I liked the basic, outrageous idea of Gwen/Norman simply because I'm desperate for more notable information on Gwen besides the fact she died. (In retrospect, I suppose it isn't exactly a good thing that I accept a story arc out of desperation...) Please leave a review; feedback is always appreciated, and thank you for reading.


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